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Monday, August 29, 2011

I am acronym-challenged. For a long time, the only Web acronyms I understood were "lol" and "btw." For half that time, I labored under the delusion I had personally invented "btw" while writing a note in seventh grade. I was in my early twenties before I finally worked out the long ones like "lmao" and "rotfl."

Because of my inability to understand acronyms, this is what Facebook statuses look like to me:

Ashley So-and-So Just got back from GLORPFRL and I'm ADGOHSIDHG so hard!Matt What's-His-Face Can't wait to ORGLFN this weekend with Stacy Anonymous!Brittney GenericLastName I'm so UNDBLF it's the weekend! Time to QWBTRK with the fam!

How do people come up with this stuff? I recently saw a status on Facebook that contained the cryptic letters "IMHO." At first I thought this person was confessing that he is, in fact, a ho. But Ari said it meant "In My Honest Opinion."

Seriously?! Who came up with that? Was there a secret meeting in which all the cool people decided the letters "IMHO" would henceforth mean "In My Honest Opinion" to everyone in the known universe? Right now, off the top of my head, I can think of at least three other things "IMHO" could mean (four if you count "I'm a Ho").

In My Home OfficeIMiss Having OrgiesIMight Have Osteoporosis

Do you want people to think you miss having orgies? Of course not! (Well, maybe you do, but you really shouldn't put that on Facebook.) Acronyms can be detrimental to your reputation.

Some people seem to think they can just make up whatever acronyms they want. And it's not just on the Internet. I was at work one time when I saw someone had made a note on a box: "Wait to unpack ITM."

In the time it took me to realize "ITM" meant "In The Morning," the author of that note could have just written "in the morning" about five times. I wonder what was happening that caused them to be in such a hurry. I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it was something extremely important.

Whenever I see an acronym from now on, I'm just going to imagine the pandemonium that must have been ensuing as it was written.

I would also like to introduce a new acronym of my own: YAAS.

"YAAS" stands for "Your Acronyms Are Stupid." Next time you see someone abusing acronyms, you can give them a taste of their own medicine by responding with YAAS. At that point, they'll probably ask you, "WDTM?" ("What Does That Mean?"). And you'll say, "Pff! You don't know what YAAS means?! You're so uncool. We're not inviting you to any of the secret acronym meetings anymore." Or, if you're being chased by a saber-tooth tiger and need to save time, "Pff! YDKWYAASM? YSU! WNIYTAOFTSAMA!"

This is of utmost importance. Please go forth and flood the Internet with YAAS. It's okay if everybody forgets that YAAS originated on this blog and attributes it to some middle schooler instead. We've got to fight acronyms with acronyms!

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Have you ever been talking to two or more people, when suddenly one of the people in the conversation said or did something kind of awkward?

Once that person has left, you reach out to your companion in an effort to dispel the awkwardness lingering in the air.

But rather than the outpouring of sympathy you expected, this other person fixes you with a blank stare.

You immediately realize you've made a crucial error. If this person didn't get the awkward moment when it was happening, how are you possibly going to explain it to them now?

Now you're trapped in an infinite loop of awkward. Not only did you just experience an awkward moment, but you're actively creating one right now.

You can try to cancel out the awkwardness by confiding in yet another person about it, in hopes that someone will finally sympathize with you, but then you have to explain both awkward situations, and you just seem crazy.

Monday, August 22, 2011

We sell fish TVs where I work. These are basically wooden cases that have cut-out openings in the front, so that when you set your fish bowl inside, it looks like you're watching your fish in a TV. A few weeks ago, we decided to display one of these on the front counter with a real betta fish inside. That's when we adopted Bernard.

Bernard's name has a rather complex history. I wanted a B name because he was a betta. Then I purposely picked out a blue betta so that there would be even more B alliteration. Finally, we found "Bernard" in our index of name cards, and noticed that it also meant "brave." Thus, our new fish became Bernard the Brave Blue Betta.

At first, I had doubts about the moniker we'd chosen for our mascot-fish. Bernard did not seem very brave, or even very outgoing. He spent most of his time slumped toward the bottom of his tank, faintly flapping his fins. One night, when the store was very quiet, my boss Denise honestly thought Bernard had died. But no, he was merely taking a nap. He was still a likable little fish; he had a kind of easy grace about him.

This was one of Bernard's more social moments.

Denise announced the addition of Bernard to our store family by posting this message on our Facebook:

I want to introduce the newest toy specialist - Bernard the Brave! Bernard will not acknowledge your presence unless you bang on the counter. Bernard will NEVER walk around the store or demonstrate products. So Bernard will never get paid except in small crumbs of food… Come and welcome Bernard to our family!

Then one night, when he had barely been with us a week, while the store was dark and deserted, Bernard surprised us all. In an uncharacteristic burst of activity, he leapt out of his fish TV. This tiny, lethargic fish somehow managed to propel himself several inches into the air and clear the top of his bowl entirely. Perhaps he was trying to catch a gnat flying overhead. Maybe he wanted to know what adventures awaited him out there in the big, wide world.

In any case, Bernard discovered the only thing awaiting him in the big, wide world was the icy hand of death. Denise found him on the counter the next morning, and he had long since gone to the big fishbowl in the sky. She did some research, and it turns out bettas will sometimes jump. Our new betta, Charles, now gets a protective piece of cardboard laid over 3/4 of his bowl when we leave at night to prevent a similar incident. If only we had known, Bernard… if only we had known.

I was out of town visiting family when Bernard's tragedy struck. Denise sent me the following Facebook message to break the news:

Bernard the Brave Blue Betta has released himself from the bondage of his tank in a TV! But alas, he forgot to take his water with him. He made it a courageous few inches before collapsing under the weight of his decision. I am sorry for the loss of our friend but respect his decision to live and die on his own terms. RIP Bernard. 08-09-2011

Rest in peace, Bernard. You were brave after all… just not very good at planning.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Since I posted my Harry Potter Abridged series last month, Hubs has brought to my attention that I draw him basically the same way I draw Harry Potter.

I guess I can see the resemblance. They are both male, and both have black hair, so since my drawings are not really that detailed, that pretty much makes them identical. However, there are some fundamental differences between Harry Potter and Hubs.

2. Harry Potter has a wand. I don't think Hubs has one of those, either.

3. Harry Potter is saying he's a wizard, whereas Hubs is proclaiming his undying love for me. I don't think Hubs would ever say he was a wizard because, as established previously, he doesn't own any wizard's robes or a wand.

4. Harry Potter's hair is slightly messier than Hubs'.

5. Harry Potter wears glasses. Hubs actually wears glasses sometimes, but I don't draw him wearing glasses. Because… um… the first time I drew him wearing glasses, I realized it made him look like Harry Potter.

For the record, this is what Hubs really looks like.

Sheer adorableness. All the time.

As you can see, he has a little beard-thing, which further differentiates him from Harry Potter. I don't usually draw him with facial hair, though, because it makes him look sort of… rapey.

Actually, the goatee really doesn't look so rapey there, but I don't feel like drawing it on a regular basis.

So, to clear things up, my husband does kind of look like Harry Potter, but he's not really Harry Potter. At least, as far as I know.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

I was sitting on the couch a few minutes ago, innocently executing some late-night Facebook-stalking on my laptop, when Hubs suddenly plopped down on top of me, typed, "Ari is the best husband ever. Like, totally" in my status bar, and reached for the "Share" button. Ari is the best husband ever, but I have not said "like, totally" since sixth grade, and I have every intention of keeping it that way.

I grabbed his right hand and yanked it away from my mouse.
He reached for the mouse with his left hand, but I grabbed it with my other hand.
He started biting my right arm and raised his foot onto the coffee table.
I trapped his leg between both my feet and pulled it back down.
One of his hands broke free and we engaged in a fierce struggle for control of the mouse, during which we managed to press the left- and right-click buttons simultaneously several times in succession.

Facebook went crazy. Random people's profiles started popping up of their own accord. I think this must have been everyone I'd Facebook-stalked tonight, in reverse order. It was the Priori Incantatem of Facebook. Meanwhile, Ari failed to notice that all this excitement had caused me to have an asthma attack. Between wheezings and gaspings, I finally managed to communicate that I needed him to stop sitting on me and biting me and restraining my limbs, and go get my inhaler.

Once I'd inhaled some sweet, sweet steroids, Ari sat down on top of me again and amended his lie-status to say, "Ari is the best husband ever. I'm sure he's very sorry for giving me an asthma attack."

"And biting me."

"Ari is the best husband ever. I'm sure he's very sorry for giving me an asthma attack. And biting me. I love him very much because he's awesome."

He clicked "Share." Then it loaded and loaded for about fifteen seconds, and...
...it didn't post.

"HA!" I exclaimed. "Facebook will only post for me!"

He clicked "Share" again. It loaded and loaded for about twenty-three seconds, and...
...didn't post.

"What's wrong with it?!"

"Magic."

"Maybe it scanned your fingerprints or something. YOU try to post it."

Pause.

"You're asking me to post the status you were trying to forcibly post in my newsfeed?"

"Yeah."

Pause.

"Okay."

I guess this is what marriage is all about.

And it still wouldn't post. I think we killed Facebook.

P.S. If ever a post needed pictures, it's this one... but I have to be up before 10:00 AM tomorrow and it's getting late, so that's just too bad.